Glass
by antiquiities
Summary: Brennan thinks.


Glass

A/N: I don't know where this story is going.

Just a quick note; I love Brennan. I think she's swell, the character has so much depth and underneath all her science and detachment, she's really rather sweet and compassionate. Oh, and not to mention she has a huge-ass crush on Booth. We haven't really seen much of that side of her in the show, not until the last few episodes, so I'm trying something new with this fic, and I hope what I'm trying to portray portrays itself. It's also one of my first attempts at writing Brennan in first person, as well as present tense, so bear with me if I make any mistakes.

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Glass. Fragile, the simplest tap and it can shatter into millions of tiny pieces.

The sun from my position lets its rays glance off the uneven surface of it, dancing across it, making it glint, wink, as it twists on the black thread that makes up its chain.

I let my fingers glide across it, knowing they won't be cut because the rough and jagged edges have been smoothed with sandpaper, making them safe.

I turn my attention away from my pendant and its delicate simplicity to my surroundings. The back of the Jeffersonian is almost like a haven to me on certain days. I sit against a wall, the view of the fountain partly obscured by rose bushes, their flowers in full bloom at the moment, bright splashes of reds and pinks contrasting against the deep green of the leaves.

It's peaceful. Quiet. Solitary.

I ponder the last one. I don't doubt I love my friends, in all their attempted matchmakings, or constant theories, or their clear adoration and willingness to learn, or even their charming smile and overwhelming cockiness. Yes, I _would_ go as far as to say I enjoy Booth's company. But if I look at it subjectively, I am generally a person who likes to be alone. I can spend hours by myself, mulling over nothing or everything and not worrying what other people will think or whether they'll ask me if I'm okay.

Most of the time I'm not when I'm alone.

I don't enjoy talking things over with people. I have walls that I meticulously guard, not many people get in. I don't like feeling vulnerable. I fear if I open my mouth and let my thoughts be voiced that it will become too real and I'll break down, have to be looked after, fussed over. I don't want that. I want independence, not to be coddled. People tell me I'm strong. Perhaps I am. They say I have to be to have gone through all I have and come out the other end.

I don't know if I have come out the other end yet, though. I still think about it every day, especially now with the reminder of it back and fresh.

I unintentionally let one person in, nonetheless. I told him about this, my thoughts, and my fears. He understands. He doesn't judge. He just takes it. Like I took his past. I've never asked about it again. He doesn't ask me either. It's a mutual understanding. We both still hurt; we both still have it imprinted in our minds.

I can hear something now, floating through the maze of plants and shrubs to my ears.

"Bones, where'd you get to?"

Wonderful, that's my alone time over. _Bones._ The term of endearment has grown on me, I'll admit it, and I'll even take a risk and say I like it, knowing it's a name reserved just for me. I stand up, brushing the dirt of my jeans and walk out of my spot, wishing my sunglasses were here and not back in my office, since the glare of the sun is bright today. He's standing there, coat and tie off, the top of his shirt unbuttoned. I similarly am only wearing a single top, since the heat hasn't let up for almost a week now.

He smiles when he sees me, a grin spreading across his face. I can't help but smile back, he does that to me, and all these involuntary actions on my part are confusing.

"Ah, there you are. Got that file you wanted. You okay?"

The ripple of concern that crosses his features when he sees my smile falter makes me feel slightly better, knowing he's worried for me. It makes me feel just that little bit safer, knowing he's looking out for me. Got my back.

"Yeah," I reply, feigning another smile. I think it came out more like a grimace, though, because in a few short strides, Booth is standing in front of me, concern evident.

"You're not." Sigh. Alpha male. Overprotective tendencies. His knack for not letting things slide. I decide to be truthful.

"I've just been thinking about things." He understands.

He notices my closed fist.

Without thinking or knowing the electric shivers that unwittingly shoot up my spine at the contact, he gently takes my hand and I open it palm up. I glance at his face; he looks at me, a silent question. I nod, letting him know its okay and he picks up the pendant between his thumb and forefinger, studying it carefully.

"This new?"

"No. I've had it forever. I don't know where I got it, either."

"You don't wear it often."

I watch as he replaces it in my hand and then closes my fingers back over it, his hand resting, lingering, around mine. He doesn't want to let go, and to be perfectly honest; I don't want him to either.

There are always these moments between us now. I'm always the one to let go and today is no different. I gently pull back and he immediately releases my hand, not embarrassed, and I put the pendant in my pocket, not wanting to put it back around my neck for fear of him wanting to help. Even the mere thought of his fingers so close to my neck makes me shiver with longing. Yes, I want him to be that near, but I can't let him be. Not yet.

He senses that my thoughts have wandered again and begins to speak.

"You want to take a look at that file?"

I snap out of it. Looking him in the eye I nod and a shadow of a grin escapes me.

He moves aside and gestures for me to walk past. His fingers whisper past my shoulder and the hairs there stand on end, even the tiniest brush of his fingertips on my bare skin causes me to bite my lip.

We walk side by side, his arm brushes against mine more than once and I attempt to force myself to stop thinking about it. It doesn't work, and my thoughts wander, wondering with a terrified fascination what it would be like to be in his arms, feel the heat of his skin beneath my fingers, inhale the scent of him that I can at the moment only catch a murmur of on the breeze. I rarely let myself think about these things. It's unprofessional and if Angela ever got wind of it I'd never live it down.

Not to mention I could never do it. Have a relationship. A proper, committed and real relationship, for getting involved with Booth would mean just that, commitment. Apart from my work, I'm committed to hardly anything. Even my writing is extremely fickle.

We reach the doors that will open and let us into the cool interior of my lab, and Booth goes first, letting me through. He smiles and once again, I can't help but smile back. Words are silent between us.

I sigh as I sit down at my desk with the file that he hands me. His hands brush mine. I shiver again, then scold myself.

No, it couldn't work. Not yet. For as much as I hate to admit it, my heart is as fragile as the glass I hold in my pocket.

--

So what'd you think? Love? Hate? Continue? Hurry my ass up and get onto writing the new Unofficial Cases fic?


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